


Toying with the Wicked

by gardensgnome



Series: Assorted Stories - VGY on LJ [6]
Category: Star Ocean: Till the End of Time
Genre: Albel wears no knickers, Cliff needs to stop giving Fayt ideas, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-13
Updated: 2015-06-13
Packaged: 2018-04-04 04:32:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4125612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gardensgnome/pseuds/gardensgnome
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While sparring, Fayt gets the upper hand and takes advantage of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Toying with the Wicked

**Author's Note:**

> For Sphere
> 
> Originally posted 03/05/2007

**Toying with the Wicked**

It started with an insult. It always did. Nel was smart enough to quickly suggest Cliff accompany her back to Arias for some extra supplies, dragging the others along as well to give Albel less targets to attack. Fayt could watch over their small camp and Albel at the same time. He wouldn’t give into the swordsman’s taunts.

Fayt stayed occupied for as long as he could, keeping the fire well tended, checking his weapons, stirring the pot of stew that bubbled over the flames. He listened to Albel prowling the perimeter of their camp, just beyond the ring of firelight, boots crunching in the dirt and rocks as a steady stream of muttering that was nothing but insults drifted back to Fayt‘s ears. Albel complained about each of his travel companions in turn. Roger’s incessant chattering and whining, Nel’s obvious infatuation with her leader, Cliff’s ego and Fayt’s inability to win without the group’s assistance.

“That was a fair battle,” Fayt finally spoke up, replacing the lid on the stew and stood up, searching for Albel in the shadows. “You had knights, trained knights, and we still beat you.”

“Hmph, those useless maggots were trained by that idiot Shelby. Incompetence breeds incompetence. Their lack of ability was not my fault.”

“Shelby was your second in command.”

“Are you trying to imply something, little worm?” Albel asked snidely. “Each is accountable for his own actions,” he stated loftily.

“And yet you were the one in the dungeon,” Fayt pointed out, fairly sure he’d pinpointed Albel’s location as the swordsman stalked through the darkness.

“Vox’s doing,” Albel spat. “I suppose I am expected to be thankful that you killed him?”

“We didn’t defeat Vox,” Fayt said quietly, shying away from the subject of Vox’s death.

“Then you get no thanks.” The cruel smile was evident in the tone.

“And if I pointed out that your skills are getting rusty from being locked up?” Fayt asked, head cocked to one side and arms crossed over his chest. “What would that get me?”

“Liar! How dare you?” Albel growled, stalking into the firelight and glaring at Fayt. “My skills have not diminished at all.”

“They have, you just don’t see it,” Fayt informed Albel, giving the older man his back for a moment to once again check the stew. “Nel was right in telling you not to hold us back.”

“As if…I could get through these mountains, the caverns and bring the Marquis to heel all on my own. I don’t need any of you, least of all that red-headed witch.”

“Fine. Prove it,” Fayt said as he turned and stepped right into Albel’s personal space. “Spar with me and we’ll see.”

“You? Me fight you?” Albel asked, somewhat shocked by Fayt’s confidence, narrowly aborting the step back he was about to take. “Little maggot has been in the sun too long and has fried his brains. You’ve got a death wish, boy.”

“Hardly. Sparring with you will improve my skills and give you something other to do than complain at me.”

“Ha, you have lost your mind,” Albel laughed. “To want to fight me…“

“Sparring…not fighting. Fighting implies there’s going to be serious injuries. We can’t get hurt, we’d be unable to complete our mission.”

“And that red-head wench would bitch at us.”

“So glad you see things my way. Shall we?”

Albel watched as Fayt walked away from the fire to the small clearing they intended on sleeping in.

He can’t be serious? This is insane. To challenge me, Albel the Wicked…stupidity.

“You’re totally serious,” Albel said when Fayt returned from where he’d placed his pack with one of his weaker blades.

Fayt just grinned and said nothing, stretching with his hands over his head, the tip of his blade stabbed into the ground. He felt lighter without much of his normal armor and so did two sets of stretches to make sure he didn’t pull anything while they sparred. Last thing either of them needed was a true injury.

“Rules of engagement?” Albel asked after having watched one set of exercises, eyes very careful not to stare at the patch of skin bared as the hem of Fayt’s vest lifted high enough to show his navel.

There was a shrug and a shaking out of limbs before Fayt decided upon the rules he wanted.

“No fancy moves and no permanent damage. Sound fair?”

“Fine by me. Have at you!”

Fayt wasn’t surprised that Albel was striking first, blade swishing in front of the man as he glided across the area chosen for their sparring. He blocked it easily enough, jumping back and holding up his blade to meet the combined downward force of both blade and claw. He grunted softly and swept them to one side, stepping around Albel and once again waiting.

“Stop defending and attack!” Albel hissed, coming in once more.

“You have more energy to expend,” Fayt said calmly as he sidestepped Albel’s charge, only just remembering not to counter with a sidekick.

“Battles cannot be won by only defending. You won‘t wear me down so quickly.”

“I’m not trying to win,” Fayt pointed out as he swung his blade in a downward arc followed by a roundhouse kick that Albel dodged only thanks to his flexibility.

“Then there is no point to this,” Albel growled, turning away in disgust.

Fayt stepped forwards quickly, hand on Albel’s shoulder to turn him around and speak. Albel did turn, slapping Fayt’s hand away, slipping on a small rock. They went down in a tangle of limbs as swords clattered to the dirt.

“Get off me,” Albel hissed, bucking up and thrashing around a bit.

“No, I kinda like it here. You’ve been disarmed so I guess I’m the winner.”

“Thought you weren’t trying to win…and my sword is not my only weapon.”

“Oh I know that,” Fayt said, easily catching the claw and pinning it above Albel’s head. Albel writhed under him for a moment, Fayt’s eyes widening a little is slight surprise.

“You’ve been hanging around that man too long,” Albel complained. “No respect for your elders…”

“I can’t believe Cliff was right about this,” Fayt said, sounding distracted and not listening to Albel at all.

“Right about what?” Albel asked warily, stilling under Fayt’s hands.

“This,” he said softly, rocking his hips in the smallest of motions, smirking slightly as Albel bit his lip.

Albel dug his heels into the ground, forcing his body not to press upwards. Fighting had always excited him, battle lust quickly becoming carnal in nature whenever there were no more opponents to sink his blade into. It galled him to think that the cocky blond had been paying enough attention to notice that after particularly intense battles, Albel always excused himself to deal with his pent up energies.

“Get off,” he repeated his earlier order, trying to roll to the side, trying to think of ways to dislodge his captor.

“No, there’s something I want to know first, something Cliff mentioned in passing when we rescued Nel from the prison.”

There were fingers sliding along his thigh, he could feel them on his skin above the stockings he wore. He didn’t move at all, breathing slowing as he fought to calm his body.

“What did Cliff want to know?” he asked, hoping to distract Fayt.

Fingers slipped into the top of the stocking, sliding it down a little till it rested loosely about his knee. Those same fingers moved over the skin inside the knee and slowly began to trail upwards. Albel almost smirked when Fayt frowned, unable to continue his exploration and hold Albel’s hands above his head. Thoughts of smirking disappeared when Fayt used both his hands to pull him into a sitting position, Albel not even thinking to fight when his arms where then trapped behind his back. He did note that Fayt’s eyes were really blue this close, and that he didn’t smell at all sweaty from the traveling and short sparring match.

“Better,” Fayt muttered softly and Albel wanted to bite him, seriously considered too until the fingers returned to his skin, trailing up his inner thigh.

“What…what is it you’re trying to find out?” he asked, swallowing hard.

“Cliff was curious as to what undergarments you wear,” Fayt said calmly as if they were discussing the weather.

“What?! That imbecile…I knew he was checking out my…”

Fayt watched fascinated as Albel shut up and shivered when his fingers came into contact with hot skin. He felt the very slight shift in Albel’s posture, as if the fight had totally gone out of him at that once touch. He stroked the soft, lightly furred skin of Albel’s balls, smiling as red eyes unfocused a little.

“Still want me to stop?” he asked.

“One word of this and I’ll gut you in your sleep,” Albel threatened, head falling back and legs relaxing and opening to give more access, to attain more pleasure.

“Behave yourself for the rest of the journey and I won’t tell Cliff you wear nothing under your skirt.”

“Bastard!” Albel hissed, leaning back on his hands when Fayt released them, his only answer a pleased hum and cooler air on more than just his bared thigh as Fayt used more than just his fingers to confirm Cliff‘s assumptions.  



End file.
